Peter J. Shippy : poet

The Best Man

Published in

Carlos emailed to say so long,He was going to put a gun in his mouth:Kaput, or maybe he'd slit his wristsWith the very envelopes that had heldHer first letters to him—so sweet, so sweet.But she had betrayed him. He had no choiceBut to rope off his neck and plunge"Like a winsome star into oblivious space."I rushed over to his place, put on some tea,And we watched his gold yellow fishDo what they do. We sipped brandyAnd listened to something unspeakablyMaudlin, the songs that make you laughFor crying. Finally, I spoke, softlyAnd slowly and he listened, he was readyTo hear to reason. What good would it doTo shoot yourself or hang yourself today?If she's as bad as you say you'll vanishFrom her memory in a week. Wait,I advised, until the morning of your wedding—After she's selected the dress, the cake,Her maid of honor and the songFor your first dance as a married couple—Then blow your brains to kingdom come.She'll never forget that gift, I said.He poured another round and showed meHow to make my yellow gold fishDo what they do.